


The Eyes of the Beholders

by DameOfNoDelicacy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Academy era Byakuya, Character Study, Exams, Family, Family Relationships - Freeform, Gen, Kido, Senpai-Kouhai Relationship, Teacher-Student Relationship, young Byakuya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 17:18:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8854054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameOfNoDelicacy/pseuds/DameOfNoDelicacy
Summary: On the day of his final Kidō examination, sixth-year Shin'ō Academy student Kuchiki Byakuya stands, paralyzed, in the center of the training field, unable to escape his grandfather's scrutinous gaze - the gaze that has always told him that he, as he is, is not enough.Note: This little fic is dedicated to anyone working their way through exams, chaotic end-of-year work shenanigans, and challenges of any kind. Just remember - even Byakuya gets a little worried sometimes, friends! And if he can make it through, then so can you :)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xsenbonzakurax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xsenbonzakurax/gifts).



Eyes.

Eyes, always watching.

Eyes, always sizing up, scrutinizing, criticizing, patronizing.

Eyes, squinting hard at his inadequacy, staring coldly at his incompetence and boring boldly into his young and quavering core. His will is strong, but it is not strong enough. His power runs deep, but not deep enough. He holds his head high, but not high enough - he keeps his head cool, but not cool enough - he firmly fixes his gaze ahead, too, towards an inevitable future in which his noble shoulders will bear the brunt of hundreds and hundreds of responsibilities, but his gaze is not fixed firmly enough -

Eyes, narrow, hard and grey like slate, buried beneath a wrinkled brow, peering haughtily and mightily, enlightened and entitled, across the grounds.

Eyes, wide with youth, clear and pale like fine crystal or glass - _I may yet shatter like glass,_ he thinks, clenching and unclenching his sweating fists at his sides  - which he shuts, slowly, in preparation.

Power, now. Energy. Tact. Skill, and manipulation. His target is miles away, leagues away, lightyears away - _I’ll never reach it - I’ll never - gods help me, I’ll NEVER -_

Eyes, still wide with youth, still clear and pale like fine crystal or glass - _I’m shattering like glass,_ he thinks, _I’m shattering,_ and his fingernails dig into his palms, almost hard enough to draw blood - which he opens, rapidly, in sudden terror.

He looks left -

He looks right -

Eyes.

Eyes everywhere.

To his left, teachers and tutors, mildly intrigued but, ultimately, businesslike. _They’re here to judge my success,_ he knows. _They’re here to watch me, and to assess my skills. They’re here to tell me where I’ve gone wrong._ His own eyes continue to flicker over the waiting crowd; he frowns, curious. Normally, he has heard, there is a Kidō Master present on this exam day as well, who will watch and consider which of the students might become Kidō Experts and Masters themselves in the future. Today, however, he cannot see one. _Just as well,_ he decides. _It’s one less set of eyes that will witness my failure._

To his right, students. Classmates. Eager adolescents from the Rukongai in secondhand uniforms, bored aristocratic sons and daughters with suave smirks on their stately faces. _They’re here to laugh at me,_  he recognizes. _They’re here to take their own turns, in time, yes - they’re here to be judged themselves, in time, yes - they’ll all have to do what I must do, yes -_ but right now, they are here to mock him. To see what good, if any, noble blood can do a sixth-year Academy student when it comes time for him to cast his spells on the Kidō Training Field.

 _And what good can my blood do me?_ he asks himself _._ He almost laughs, because the question is so absurd. _No good_ , he knows. _No good at all._

After all, the name “Kuchiki” cannot keep his mouth from going dry, or his fingertips from trembling.

What’s more  - it is the name “Kuchiki” that draws those eyes, still  narrow, still hard and grey like slate, still buried beneath that wrinkled brow, straight to him, and it is the name “Kuchiki” that keeps them there.

 _That name has kept those eyes on me since the day I was born,_ he thinks. _Gods… if I were any other man..._ _any other man at all… and if I bore any other name…_

He stops.

_Or…_

He swallows.

_Not now… please, not now…_

Eyes...

Eyes, deep and dark like an autumn sky after sunset but before the night sets in… eyes, always kind, like a sweet breeze in springtime... eyes, fever-bright in so many of his memories, like two blazing summertime suns wrought in violet...

_If only… it were those eyes looking at me instead..._

But those eyes are dead now, like the earth in cold winter.

 _I’m taking too long_ , he realizes. _How long have I been standing here?_ His teachers will be getting impatient. His classmates will be succumbing to even deeper boredom. His grandfather - he clenches his fists even tighter, and releases a pent-up breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding -  his grandfather will be growing even more scornful. _Just do it,_ he tells himself. _You_   _know it’s going to be a failure, so why don't you just get it over with?_

More power, now. More energy. More tact, more skill, and more concentrated manipulation. His first spell is simple; he has cast it countless times, and it’s been years since it gave him any difficulty. He shouldn’t be worried…. he shouldn’t be nervous… he _shouldn’t_ be -

_But I’ve never cast this spell in the presence of those eyes._

His power grows, surges. He focuses his cool gaze on the distant target, bright red and white, waiting patiently at the other end of the field to be blasted to bits by his artistry. _How many targets like this have I hit in these past six years?_ His power slips, skips, for just a moment - he clenches his fists hard again, forcing it back to steadiness. _Hundreds_ , he answers himself, after he’s reeled in the overexcited energy tingling on the edges of his reiatsu. _Thousands, perhaps._ He isn’t altogether inept at this; even he is willing to concede as much.

He stands motionless.

He breathes.

 _Get it over with,_ he tells himself once more. _It’s hopeless, no matter what._

Because he still feels those eyes, piercing like tiny daggers into the back of his skull. Those eyes, which stab gaping holes in his pride and his confidence. Those eyes, which always spell condemnation and never spell approval, never even simple _acceptance._

Those eyes, which forever tell him that he, as he is, is not enough.

He breathes again.

He raises his hand, palm flat. His stomach tightens, with the impulse to speak -

But just then, all eyes turn, in rapid-fire synchronicity, to the back of the Training Field.

 _The door_ , he thinks dully, placing the faraway sound of heavy wood scraping against heavy wood. _Someone has opened the door._

He lowers his hand.  Perhaps, for at least a moment, this latecomer, rather than he himself, will be the object of his grandfather’s disdain. _Wouldn’t that be nice?_ He cranes his neck, straining to see who this brazen person might be. He hears murmured words behind him, followed immediately by quiet burst of mildly apologetic-sounding laughter -

He starts.

_Could it be?_

He whirls around. The power he’s gathered slips again, slips altogether this time and then dissipates, fading away to nothing, but he can’t find it within himself to care.

Eyes.

Eyes, piercing green and fiercely intelligent. Eyes, soft with compassion, but not weak - indeed, though he cannot for the life of him understand it, something about the compassion in those eyes is what adds to their strength and intensity. Eyes, tired today, he sees. _Though,_   _I don’t suppose I’d need to look into his eyes to see that,_ he reflects, noting how carefully the owner of these eyes moves as he sinks gratefully into the chair offered him by one of the younger tutors. _That must be why he was late. He’s been unwell, and so he’s moving slowly…_

Eyes, which he meets.

He is a fool to think it, but he cannot help but fancy that those eyes are here for him. _Is that so?_ he silently dares to ask those green eyes. _Did you come here for me? Did you come to help me, and to make me strong?_

Dimly, he hears formal and official-sounding words ringing out from where the head Kidō instructor perches on the sidelines. “The Kidō Master, now present,” she says shrilly, “apologizes for his tardiness, and for any disturbances he may have caused in this examination process.” He is certain that the instructor is scowling where she stands, but he pays her no mind. He has eyes only for the Kidō Master, now present; and the Kidō Master, now present, in turn, seems to have eyes only for him.

That ancient, slate-grey glare still glowers from across the field. Still, it forecasts failure. _You are not enough_ , that glare still says. _You have never been enough, and you are not enough now, and, try though you might, you will never be enough._

But somehow, he finds it more difficult to believe that glare now.

The Kidō instructor clears her throat. _Oh_ , he thinks dumbly. _I’m supposed to be doing something, aren’t I?_ “If the student,” the instructor says emphatically, “would kindly resume the exercise?”

He pauses.

He breathes.

“Yes, sensei,” he hears himself say.

He turns.

A split second before he faces away, he could swear he sees the faintest flash of a smile - a gentle smile, flickering across the pale lips that rest beneath those keen, green eyes. _You are enough,_  that smile says. _You have always been enough, and you are enough now, and, as long as you try your very best, you will always be enough - always and forever._

And so, once again, power. Energy, tact, skill, and manipulation. Strength, now, too, and control. Beauty and craftsmanship, focus and finesse, a precisely woven piece of calculated destruction welling up from within his very soul. His target is not so far away now as it seemed before. _How many targets like this have I hit in these past six years?_ he asks himself, doing his socially appropriate best to keep an expression of over-confidence from sliding onto his face. _Thousands,_ he answers himself, savoring the way it feels when his reiatsu ripples with electric potential like this. _Millions, perhaps…._

He is skilled in this field, and he knows it.

In the presence of those green eyes, even he is willing to admit as much.

Again, he stands motionless.

Again, he breathes.

 _I’ll show them,_ he resolves. _I’ll show them what I can do._

Again, he raises his hand, palm flat.

_I will prove my grandfather wrong._

Again, his stomach tightens, with the impulse to speak.

_And my senpai…_

His fingertips, steady now, grow warm. They itch, as if they know that the release of his power is imminent.

_...I will make my senpai proud._

And Kuchiki Byakuya speaks.

“Hadō, number four,” he says. “Byakurai.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this fic for my amazing friend xsenbonzakurax, who I know is dealing with exams and whatnot at the moment. Best of luck, dude. I know you'll be fan-freaking-tastic :)
> 
> ...also, I've got to give xsenbonzaurax another shoutout - because they introduced to me the headcanon that Ukitake is one of the very, very few mentors in Byakuya's life who ever offered him genuine praise and positive reinforcement. This fic kinda took that headcanon and merged it with a final-exams-ish theme, I guess - or something like that. (Also, I discovered whilst writing this fic that I might lowkey headcanon that Ukitake shows up late to things on a somewhat regular basis. He doesn't /mean/ to, the poor guy, but he just can't quite manage to be punctual sometimes...)
> 
> Thanks, as always, for reading everyone. Hope you enjoyed this little fic! And to anyone out there dealing with exams - I wish you all the best! You can do it!


End file.
